


The Shaking Thrill

by BelowBedlam



Series: Lights in the Galactic Dark [4]
Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, F/F, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Ghosts, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Past Relationship(s), Protective Siblings, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-10-24 15:56:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10744929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelowBedlam/pseuds/BelowBedlam
Summary: Juju Ryder and Vetra Nyx, through mutual (and assumed unrequited) pining, shameless flirtation, and fighting their way to a new home in Andromeda, realize maybe their attraction to one another is a little more than a cute distraction from the very real stress of their mission. Maybe it has a little more weight.(Honestly? Two women refusing to believe the other could really want to *be* with them adamantly enough to give Jaal Ama Darav a migraine and probably also heartburn.)





	1. Hot Heads & Cold Feet

_It’s gonna be okay, Juby._

Juju is already half awake when the words curl in her ears like her father whispers them, right now, in what she assumes is the dead of night.

“SAM,” she croaks, rubbing her face. Hot and clammy with sleep, she breathes in deep sighs until she can open her eyes. By then, SAM has the lights on the lowest setting and some soft music playing: Vivaldi’s “Spring.” She can’t remember the first time she’d ever heard it, but she remembers going to a music shop when they visited their grandparents in London, humming the first few notes and subsequently being sold, from what she can surmise, a good amount of really old and Italian Baroque compositions.

The happy music does some of the work of clearing her head of ghosts. Ghost. It’s just her father, really. Probably because he’s new.

“There are two and a half hours until the start of the day,” SAM says. So not the dead of night, but still pretty early. Juju swings her feet out of bed and sits on its edge, head dropped towards her chest until she can muster the energy to keep it upright.

“How many hours until we reach Kadara?”

“Five.”

“And god knows how long they’ll make us wait,” she mutters, patting her cheeks progressively harder until she stands up, stretches and makes an effort towards her door. Doesn’t even bother with socks, though the closer she gets to the door the colder the floor gets, and when the door slides open at her touch she’s hit with a puff of cool air that prickles her all over. The blue-white of the ship’s lighting is dim, just enough for night walkers to find their feet. Lower deck is as empty as one expects it to be at the ass-crack of dawn. Its sleek chrome seems to glow; looking up, the underside of the bridge connecting the navigation deck to the rest of the ship warps Juju’s coloring into a blurred stretch of gunmetal-gray. She can hear Kallo moving around above her and catches herself before she calls up to him. He probably likes getting up to all this quiet, no one bothering him just yet.

Padding into the bathroom, Juju splashes water on her face and drinks some from her cupped hands. Then she presses them to her neck, tensing and waking up further at the cold shock. She stares blearily at herself, licks her lips, lets water run down her chest and back. A brown face and the bright orange of her headscarf reflect back at her. Her scar seems redder than usual, couching her left eye in a rough, near-burgundy flush.

The galley is just as empty, though she’d half expected Drack to be sitting at the table. She takes a few crackers from the cabinet. These damned crackers. Never came in anything but white boxes, looked like graham crackers but didn’t really taste like graham crackers. Slightly sweet, would go well with tea and jam. Juju doesn’t know if they get stale, that first dry snap of them in her mouth somewhere between a saltine and a potato chip. But the food brings her to life and she munches contentedly, humming the first bit of “Spring” over and over again.

Quiet morning like this, she can almost pretend her father and brother are somewhere on board, and one of them will walk in on her. Her father would say good morning, make awkward small talk and hang around until it was too much for both of them. Lorenz would stroll right up to her and steal a bite from the very cracker she was eating, just to irritate her. Then he’d kiss the top of her head to leave behind the crumbs.

Juju’s hand creeps over her chest to where her father's dog tags hang beneath her shirt. She doesn’t make a habit of sleeping in them, but sometimes it’s nicer to have them on, even if the chain gets caught in the hair at the nape of her neck. She presses her hand against them, feels cool metal on her chest until her body warms it up again.

She jumps when she hears footsteps later than she should have, and suddenly she’s no longer alone.

“Shit. I didn’t think anyone was up.” Vetra comes into the galley like she’s in a rush and stops in her tracks. “Hey, Ryder. Morning.”

“Morning,” Juju says around her cracker, swallowing the dry crumbs down. “You usually get up this early?”  She looks Vetra over. The gunner’s always in armor, but this morning she hasn’t quite gotten to it. She wears stretchy, comfortable-looking leggings and a matching, long-sleeved top with three loops at the end for her fingers. She's all long limbs and surprise juts of her carapace underneath the white fabric. No visor, no scarf, but other than that she looks about the same as usual. Turians must not get sleep face.

Then Juju blinks, and focuses on her crackers, because no one wants to be eyed at the ass-crack of dawn.

Vetra either doesn’t seem to notice. “Sometimes. Yesterday was such a low-impact cycle that I just wasn’t tired by the end of it.” She shrugs, ambling over to to the cabinets in the exact opposite way she’d initially rushed into the galley. Juju watches her reach all the way into the back of the cabinet and pull out a thick, silver plastic bag. “You mind if I sit? If you wanted to be alone-”

Juju reaches her foot underneath the table to push the empty chair out in invitation. “Kitchen’s a free zone. Most places on this ship are a free zone, you know.”

“Thanks, Ryder,” she chuckles, sitting down.

“Juju works just fine when I’m still in my scarf.” Shit. Juju looks down at herself. She doesn’t cut nearly as good a figure in her pajamas as Vetra. Thin gray t-shirt and a pair of flannel sleeping pants she’d stolen from Lorenz years ago. Centuries, now, technically. Thinking about time just makes her dizzy and irritated; she nods at Vetra’s bag. “What’s that?”

“Snacks,” Vetra says, hooking a claw into the bag and ripping the top open. Juju flinches, and Vetra looks over sheepishly. “Sorry, Ry- Juju. I keep snacks stashed around or else I’ll eat them all at once. I’ll only go for the hidden ones if it’s _really_ necessary.”

“Like early morning hunger pains.”

“Yup.” She pours a handful of what looks like, but definitely aren’t, popcorn kernels into her hand, then drops a few in her mouth.

Juju pushes another piece of cracker into hers, and for a few moments they eat quietly. The light in the galley brightens a little more, and Juju hears the barely-there whirr before a gentle gust of air freshens the room. The _Tempest_ is an interesting vessel, made even more interesting by SAM. It was almost a living thing in itself. Juju feels better about SAM as a part of the Tempest. As a part of _her_ is something entirely different, but at least she only sometimes needs a sleeping aid now,  to deal with that fact that she isn’t alone in her head. Dr. T’Perro says that’s good.

“So,” Vetra drawls, swallowing her latest mouthful. “You ready for Kadara?”

“Ready to get off this ship,” Juju snorts, folding her arms. “It should be fine. After that Kett...bullshit, this should be a cakewalk.”

What’s a couple warring gangs after fighting through an entirely new alien race? Floating, murderous priests, exploding orbs? The Kett facility made her feel stick, still does. She’s not sure how she made it through. She’s only a moderately useful biotic, her aim is alright, tech is above average but on a ship full of alien devices, she’d been scrambling to keep up. Saving the Moshae had been a realization, and an even more painful one than the vault on Eos. Out here in Andromeda? Juju is mediocre at best. It stings; being mediocre to her father was one thing,  but not even matching up to her crew? Shit, Vetra’s a merc, learned her way by the seat of her pants. Juju has had some training, official and unofficial. But Vetra had laid down more cover fire for her than anyone else, snatched her up when she lost her footing. Never says anything about that.

Now, Vetra shakes her head, fixing Juju with what feel like genuine concern at best, patronization at worst. “Yeah, but this isn’t like that. It might _feel_ closer to home but...” she trails off, silence saying more than any words.

“Hmm.” Juju's heart beats a little faster, warmth rising too quickly in her cheeks. Whether or not Vetra means it, Juju can hear it in her voice. The lecture. And it’s warranted- if Juju is smart, she’ll take whatever advice Vetra wants to give her. Kadara is her area of expertise, probably more familiar to her than anyone else on board.

Vetra seems to see the shift in her mood; her hand stills halfway between snack and mouth as she realizes what she might have done. “I meant-”

“-You meant regardless if they're Milky Way, and they play their own game.” Juju meets Vetra’s gaze. “And you meant I shouldn’t trivialize the games I don’t know how to play. Right?” She asks it as lightly as she can muster, but it's not enough to take Vetra off edge. “It’s true. I don’t know how to play it. I don’t think fucking around in the Citadel underground is quite the same as...whatever they are. Gangs, mercenaries - I don’t know it, not really.” She shrugs, trying to dispel the irritation welling up in her like static. “You don’t have to dance around it, either.”

Vetra is just trying to help. She’s not like Juju’s father, not looking at her and seeing a failure, and poking at the tender parts of her. But, god, Juju wants to lash out. It’s what she’s used to. A side effect of insisting on keeping her father in her life.

Vetra drops her head, chuckling. “Right. Sorry.”

Everyone on the Tempest is cautious of her. They’re afraid that she’ll break, and it’s her fault. Juju knows that it’s her fault, but she can’t help it that everything that’s happening- every success, failure, discovery- is happening to her and to this crew in this way because her father is dead. It hurts. But she’s not going to break. After her mother died she realized that she is her father’s daughter in more ways than she ever thought or wanted, and she has his tenacity in spades.

But then, they’re probably also cautious of her because she fucking bites.

“You know, it’ll be nice to see what’s going on with their food,” she says, changing the subject altogether, “I know somebody on that rock has found ways to cook up some alien wildlife. It doesn’t have to _be_ steak if it’s _shaped_ like a steak with a little bit of seasoning.” Lorenz would tell her she'd just pulled a bitch move, and that it's a bad way of smoothing things over, and not quite fair to the other person. _You don't need me to tell you who else does that bullshit, Juj._

But Vetra looks relieved; she laughs a little, leaning back in her seat. “Steak?”

“Yeah. Steak. Like...cow?” She grins when Vetra just looks at her. “It’s food. A meat. Really good on a grill. Or some fish. Fuck,” she groans, rolling her eyes shut. “I’d kill a man for a good piece of grilled salmon.”

Her mouth waters; she stuffs another cracker in her mouth, and Vetra takes it as a cue to empty what’s left in her hand into hers. Another stretch of silent chewing, but the tension doesn’t disappear just because Juju wills it so. She admits that this is difficult. Too much thrown all at once, and she doesn’t get to rest. Not even when she sleeps. Being a leader, having to lead, is a job all its own without having to manage the rest of the shit show that has become her life. And she can’t do it, but she has to: something her father would say instead of the softer encouragement Juju wanted and needed, sometimes. 

A credit to his memory, then, because she needs some of the memories of his hard words now.

“I don’t know about salmon. Or cow,” Vetra says, “but there’s bound to be something interesting down there. If you decide to make time to check out the markets and want a buddy-”

“-An hour and a half until the day begins,” SAM says aloud, his intention everything like a mother as he subtly reminds Juju that not only does she need to shower, but her hair's a mess under that scarf.

Vetra looks over herself, too. “Probably time to get dressed.”

“Yeah.” Juju stands, closing her cracker box. She leaves it on the counter for Liam, who’d be in sooner than anyone else. “Look," she begins, her brother's voice a nag in her ear. He's not even one of the ghosts and he's haunting. "Sorry, Vetra."

“No, you’re dealing with a lot of shit,” Vetra protests, rolling up her bag and moving to the cabinets to return it to its hiding place. “And I...don’t know how to make morning conversation.” She looks down at her, green eyes never ceasing to be unnaturally bright, and briefly touches her shoulder. “I’ll work on it.”

“Same time tomorrow?” Juju feels even worse for how nice Vetra is, how she laughs even though she doesn’t have to play along.

“I guess it depends on how much trouble we get into today.” The teasing lilt to her voice that gives Juju pause seeps into her words. Something about it on top of the double thrum of her voice runs an identical buzz down Juju's spine. “See you in a few.”

Juju watches Vetra make the trek back to her spot in the cargo bay, and groans deep in her chest. The last thing she needs is to come off like a petulant, moody kid to anyone onboard, but particularly to someone like _her_. She needs to get her shit together, and fast. She might not have too many dealings with Kadara’s ilk under her belt, but she knows those types are likely to chew her up and spit her out without batting an eye. And she knows that Vetra could, too. She’s just lucky the merc is on her side.

And sweet. Juju rolls her shoulder where Vetra touched her, touches the spot herself, before going to dress for the day.

***

Vetra doesn’t quite know about the Pathfinder sometimes. She’s earnest, and honest, but that’s never really been _enough_. Shit, if only it were. If only.

Back in her room she makes quick work of getting dressed, pulling on her armor like the welcome, second skin it is, fixing its only relent - the heavy, smooth scarf - around her neck and collar. She rubs a little moisturizer into the exposed parts of her and a little shine everywhere else. Smells good, though Vetra has never been able to place it. She checks her messages and sees a few from her Kadaran contacts. Good. Vetra is ready to stretch her legs in somewhat familiar territory. She’s more than ready to check in on these weapons modifications her contacts claim to have access to. Re-up on snacks, too. Can’t run through an alien galaxy, fighting for the right to live without keeping a good stash of snacks.

It’ll be good to stretch her legs. And she has to admit, she’s curious to see how these outcasts have been living. They’ve done what it took the Initiative until Ryder showed up to do, and without all of the fancy resources. And if they have enough time and energy to war against each other, they must be doing alright. More than alright.

No offense to Ryder, though. She’s doing a hell of a good job, even if she doesn’t think so. It’s not her capability that Vetra is unsure of so much as how long the woman will _last_.

_Well, it’s your job to help her last, right?_ She thinks to herself as she scrolls through another of her channels, sees nothing of note. _Knock down the walls she doesn’t necessarily need to knock down herself._

Rescuing the Moshae at that fucked up Kett Facility had been a little more than even Vetra had expected. No one blames Ryder for stumbling a little. In the end, they saved the Moshae, saved the other Angara, and killed the creepy Kett priest. Ryder did that. Vetra was already impressed with the Pathfinder after settling on Eos. She was a little younger, a good deal greener, very much shaken by what had happened to her family. Unsure. In a job she wasn’t really qualified for on paper beyond, technically, being a soldier. And still, Eos had been where Ryder had proven to Vetra that she was a Pathfinder, and someone she'd follow to wherever this ridiculous ride took them.

Earnest, honest, practical, curious, ready to fight despite all combative shortcomings; from experience Vetra knows these things are wanting in many people. They’re damned admirable. Still, that doesn’t make them _enough_.

Maybe they will be in Andromeda. Who knows.

But for now what Vetra can do for Ryder is procure and defend. Work the channels. Spot bullshit a mile away and run up on it to kick its ass thoroughly. Things Vetra knows how to do in her sleep.

_That’s_ enough.

Vetra cracks her knuckles and shoots a few replies back to her contacts before the _Tempest_ comes alive. And if she thinks a little longer on the Pathfinder in her pajamas, that shock of orange scarf on her head (For _what_? Maybe Cora knows?), it’s no big deal. No big deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (the crackers were stale and Cora doesn't know)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!


	2. Rendezvous

On Kadara it takes Juju longer to clock Reyes Vidal than Sloane Kelly. Reyes is very handsome, easy with his smiles, and insistent on making her feel that same warm ease. He’d sized up her from a distance, letting her acclimate to _Kralla’s Song_ , chewing her bubblegum in relative peace, before strolling over to introduce himself.

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

She laughs because it’s silly, and dramatic, and hell, why not? Maybe they’re in a noir vid and don’t know it and she’s the one with bad lines. She tucks some of her loose hair behind her ear before shaking his hand, ignoring the shots Umi lays out before them with impressive speed.

“Hi Shena,” she says, shaking her head demurely when he physically offers her the shot. This scene she knows; once she hit legal age she and Lorenz spent too much time in clubs. She learned how to maneuver many kinds of people, but confident men in particular. Shena...Reyes is definitely confident, and playing at something; it doesn’t bother her that he wants from her, only that she doesn’t yet know what it is. 

He ends up taking her shot for her, licking his full lips like he hadn’t just downed two hits of paint thinner. Juju can smell the sharp cut of whatever Umi serves them like it’s sitting under her nose.

“I’m not leaving here without what I need,” she says as they migrate from the bar to a stretch of railing across the room. Reyes stands closer to her here, and she can smell his cologne. “Sloane can help or she can...not help, I guess?” Juju shrugs, blowing a pink bubble. “If she wants to be a roadblock, I’ve had some recent practice knocking a few down.”

Juju hasn’t seen Sloane yet but she’s pretty sure the woman can and will kick her ass if need be. But Reyes doesn’t need to know all of that.

He grins and leans into her and Juju helps herself to a better view of his broad chest. “You and I are going to be friends, Jude.”

Even if Juju didn’t think he was ridiculously sexy she wouldn’t judge him for laying the charm on thick, using what he has. Her shirt is cut low enough that the tattooed bees across her chest finally see the light of day, her leather jacket more for style than warmth, jeans painted on, lips painted red. She'd expected to meet an angara but even they could look, even if they didn't know what they were looking at.

Reyes looks without leering. Still, something about him keeps Juju wary. Maybe it’s whatever other business he’s into, maybe it’s just that he’s too pretty for a place like this, she doesn’t know.

Sloane Kelly is another story. She’s gorgeous like snow capped mountains and just as harsh, and wants nothing from Juju. Absolutely nothing; if she could want less, Juju thinks she would. Sloane doesn’t quite glare at her, but whatever she does makes Juju swallow her gum, makes her back tingle. Mismatched eyes flit over her, and one eyebrow raises without any other muscle moving an inch. Something in that look has the krogan escorts giving Juju a bit of room - not a lot, but enough that the air doesn’t feel as thick.

 _Sloane Kelly doesn’t like you_ , Reyes had said with the most sincerity of their short encounter.

And he’s right; she _really_ doesn’t.

“What?” Sloane asks flatly. Her eyes fix for a moment on Juju’s scar; she can always tell when someone stares at it.

“Jude Ryder,” she says as if this woman doesn’t know her dossier and the dossiers of everyone on the _Tempest._ “I need an angaran you’ve got; Vehn Terev has information that’ll get me closer to the Kett, who you seem to prefer as welcome signs.” Juju watches Sloane frown at her, look her over again, she has no idea what goes through her head. Maybe it’s the accent, thout it’s not uncommon; Juju didn’t really _get_ her mother’s accent, and they hadn’t been in London for long enough for it to be _her_ accent, but it still manages to soften some of her words. Uncle David, who hadn’t been her blood uncle but had known her mother from childhood and her father from training, had poked fun at her for it. He’d been born and raised in London and still sounded anything but.

After a moment, Sloane simply leans forward in a chair that’s hard not to imagine as a throne. Raised above her, Juju knows she’s supposed to feel how she feels, fretting over her half-an-accent like Sloane actually gives a damn. She could have been thinking anything.

“Right. Well you can’t have Vehn, but you can have a chat with him since what you need is information, yeah?”

Juju thinks a moment, acutely aware that arguing with this woman won’t end well for her. Too many guns, too many big-ass krogans, that rough-looking turian in the corner- she’s not keen on starting a fight on her own. She has picked enough of them to know when she’s beat; after a few times you can tell who’s fishing for kickback, and who’s telling you what you’re gonna fucking do. Sloane Kelly is the latter.

“Yeah.”

A quirk of that brow. “Good girl. Dismissed.” Sloane gives a mock salute and sits back on her throne. Because Juju doesn’t know what else to do, she does it back before fighting every urge to speed out of the room. She also doesn’t look back to see if Sloane watches her leave; if she had to guess, she’s been out of her mind since she told Juju her only option.

So she knows Sloane’s game, and it’s that she has no game other than “how fast can you get out of my face.” Reyes is playing something else; looks like charm but walks like something a little smarter. He slips her a device that’ll free Vehn after she gets what he needs, and she wonders just how pissed she’s gonna end up making the queen of Kadara Port.

*

Vetra doesn’t like what she’s seeing on Kadara. All the back and forth between the Outcasts and the Collective is coming to a head and she just wants to make sure her people don’t get caught up in that crossfire; too many times she’s been caught in the middle of two warring sides of bullshit. And that’s exactly what this is. Business she doesn’t have a stake in, but maybe it’s too late. Maybe they’re already in it, a pre-packaged part of the deal.

Speaking of deals, she and Drack are feeling pretty accomplished for barely being on port an hour. So far they’ve procured snacks, mods for the armory, two and a half pounds of honest-to-goodness, old-fashioned C4 explosives, a new scope for Vetra’s gun. A lead on her lamp, which makes Drack snicker. He wants to see this lamp when she finds it. _Better be worth the chase._ But see, he’s expecting the sexiest Asari molded in hard, gold plastic, something with the ass inexplicably angled to some impossible, tantalizing degree; he’ll be disappointed. Vetra just wants her lamp back.

He moves their haul to the _Tempest_ and she strolls through the markets, seeing people she’d known before the Nexus became a battleground. Some of them clock her and move on, hardly acknowledging, and she can’t be too upset about that. There will probably always be bad blood between the exiles and the Nexus. Vetra thinks it's warranted; she doesn’t know what side of the cluster she’d be on if it weren’t for Sid.

Well. Maybe she does. Sid’s the closest thing to a moral compass she has, the only reason really to stick with the initiative after the bullshit.

Ryder could bring some semblance of peace to Kadara and save all of Helius, but there’d never be true closure between the port and the Nexus. Too much fucking bitterness. She can feel it on the back of her throat as she walks through the market, killing time as much as she’s getting acquainted.

“Well shit, pretty Nyx. Hi.”

Vetra stiffens but turns to the voice as smooth as oil. Adri Kravus had disappeared during the revolt but she knew he hadn’t died, knew he was too slick for anything honest and it was only a matter of time before he slipped through a crack.

“Fucking Kravus,” she greets him with a dry laugh, moving close enough to clear the walkway and still keep her distance. “Had a feeling I’d see you eventually.”

“Heard you’d be out this way. Everyone’s been buzzing about your Pathfinder for weeks.” He leans against the side of a stall, long and dark, his red markings like a warning over his face. He’s a head taller; only time it doesn't bother her is at a distance, or when she’s on top of him. But they’d snuffed that even before the uprising. He’s too much bad news just waiting for opportunity and she didn’t come this far to fuck things up for herself and Sid. “You look good.”

“So do you.” She comes a little closer, looks him over a little better. He looks like he’s taken more than a few shots since leaving the station, but it looks good on him.

“How’s Sid?”

“Don’t worry about Sid,” she says kindly, but firmly, and Kravus squints his pale eyes. She’d never even introduced him to Sid, though her sister knows who he is. In case she ever needed to tell Vetra anything off. In case he ended up being more trouble.

Kravus shrugs. “Then I don’t have much else in the way of small talk.”

“Nothing wrong with that, just saying hi in passing.” Even after months upon months; She hasn’t thought about him much at all. Maybe a little, but nothing to keep her up at night.

“Not sure I know how to just pass you up, Nyx.” He pushes off of his perch and takes a step closer. She can hear the pleasing hum rumbling in his chest as he looks at her, a song of attraction. Certainly not affection; Kravus had been good to her, but Vetra never played herself in thinking they were anything but comfort to one another. That much had been clear.

He’s going to speak before he sees something over her shoulder and stops short.

“I see my appointment,” he says. “So maybe if you’re here long enough, or here again, you’ll come by _Kralla’s_. We can buy each other drinks, and not-talk some more.”

“Maybe.” They won’t. Vetra hasn’t had sex with anyone in what feels like ages and the way Kravus is looking at her is dangerous. Vetra doesn’t make a habit of doubling back once she’s made a decision. Not even once.

Kravus laughs. He might not _know_ her, but he knows enough. He doesn’t seem horribly put-out by it, which is all the better. “Okay. Maybe. Good seeing you, anyway. Good luck, I mean that.”

“Same to you.” She means it, too.

When he walks past her he drags his knuckles down her arm, bumps the back of her hand with his, and leaves her skin in a fit of tingles.

Vetra lets out a long sigh and keeps walking. Doesn’t look back because this is Kadara and people are watching. But seeing Kravus sends her back to a peaceful Nexus - nervous as hell because they were stranded, but no one had started fighting each other yet. It had been there though, just under the surface, but simply a vibration Vetra was used to. She’d been a little too wrapped up in Kravus when that hum grew louder, broke into a scream, and threatened to take them all under.

 _Better times_ , now, she thinks, think snickers to herself. They’re chasing after a crazy alien race that wants to absorb them all. They’re at war, as much as they can be, with a galaxy, tentative peace with the Angara only because the Kett are a bigger threat... _Okay it’s still shit, but we’re moving toward better times, at least._ And she’s helping to work towards that, and it feels really good. She wants to hold on to that.

“It’s Ryder,” the Pathfinder’s chirpy voice filters in through Vetra’s comms as the communal connection opens. They’ve been waiting for her to check in. “So we’ve got ourselves a treasure hunt. Out past the protection of the ceasefire zone, naturally. I wanna get what we need ASAP.” She pops the ‘P’ so it sounds like a bursting bubble. “Who _really_ wants to come?”

“You driving?” Drack’s voice filters in, the tease as clear as if he were standing in front of her, and Vetra grins.

“Fuck you,” Juju laughs, “I’m a goddamn good driver and now you can’t come.”

“Fine by me. Lived too long to let a life-form that thinks 100 is old kill me in a damn car crash.”

“I’ll go,” Vetra says. She’s been curious about the badlands since they got here, wants to see what happens to the people deemed unfit for Kadara. And maybe she wants to shoot something.

“Shotgun.” Liam’s voice rolls through their ears.

“Alright. Let’s suit up, meet at the lift in... twenty, and we’ll go get this thing. If we’re luckier than we have been so far, it’ll be a quick pickup. Ryder out.”

Vetra wonders about the meetings with Shena and Sloane, still thinks going alone might not have been the best choice for the first. They’ve proven themselves to Jaal and Evfra but everybody in the Resistance isn’t Jaal and Evfra. And even Evfra is sort of begrudgingly going along with everything. And Sloane Kelly...that was never going to be sunshine and clear skies, but if Ryder has her intel, it had gone well enough.

 _Stop worrying_ , she reminds herself as she posts up beside the lift. _To The Slums_ , says the crude sign in what looks like a marker on a scrap of metal. Vetra watches the docks for twenty minutes and tries not to think about how this place feels the most like home than anywhere they’ve landed yet.

**

Juju takes off her helmet and spits as they wait for the _Tempest_ to pick them up, and gags. The air’s breathable but the water’s poison and it smells like ruined eggs and shit.

“Fuck me,” she mutters, squinting as she looks around the badlands without her helmet’s obstruction. “At least we didn’t have to go diving for this thing.”

“Wouldn’t wanna skinny dip here,” Liam says with a grin, and Juju wrinkles her nose. The transponder is dead but they can juice it on ship, let Gill do his job getting it to work how they need it to work.

“You know, this place could be alright if we could fix that water. And...figure out the fucking dinosaur problem,” she says. The landscape is rugged, but there’s grass and mountains, a pretty sky. Potential.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, “turn it into a barbecue problem.”

“Liam Kosta, _consistently_ speaking my language,” Juju laughs, bumping his waiting fist. She’s only been on planet a day, but she has a good feeling about Kadara. She doesn’t know why, maybe because people are already here and clear water might calm them all down a little. Juju won’t pass judgement on the exiles. She refuses to. Each and every one of them, from Pathfinder to punk kid, has made the greatest leap of faith in the history of the Milky Way by leaving it. Whatever happened on the Nexus, Juju didn’t come all this way to give up on people; she came all this way because she couldn’t give up on _one_ person. Just because he’s gone doesn’t mean the sentiment is.

The least she can get them is fresh water. Kadara is hard, but she’s hopeful. She needs it.

But first, they get back to the Tempest and give Gil the transponder, and he’d be like a kid at Christmas if the context was different. Still, he shoos them out of his workspace, promising to let them know “as soon as you’re useful again.”

Juju checks in with Suvi and Kallo before swinging by Jaal’s room to see he’s gone. Confirmed still with his feet on Kadara, and so she leaves him to whatever he’s doing. She could ask SAM to locate him in more detail, but that makes her feel dirty somehow. Having eyes like that, and relatively none on her. And Jaal has been a bit somber since the kett facility; still his general boisterous self, but subdued. If he wants to be gone for a while, she can give him that no matter how worried she is for him.

Funny how fast people become friends, dear to you. Funny still when it’s someone from an entirely new species you’ve known a couple of months.

Juju heads to her room and checks her e-mail at SAM’s prompting. The beginning of a new article Suvi had promised that reads more like travel article than scientific in the beginning, detailing Eos’s landscape and sand diversity. Asari prayers from Cora, that Juju honestly appreciates, since she and Cora had been slow to start. Still don’t really talk much outside necessity but that might just be the nature of it in the end. Last thing is a list of things acquired by Vetra and Drack on their secret mission. She opens it, curious.

 _Told you, you’re the boss_ , it begins, calling back to another email Vetra sent not long after they left the Nexus for the first time. _And you might not have wanted to know where we were going, but here’s what came of it. You know where I am if you have questions._

_-Vetra_

“C-what?” Juju chokes, snickering at her screen. “Somebody sold you...no,” she moves from terminal to door like lightning, jogging down to Cargo. Vetra sits at her little makeshift desk, bobbing her head to music playing that Juju can’t hear, one foot propped up on an open cabinet. She’s fitting a scope on her gun, and her tablet glows blue on the desk before blackening dormant. Turian fashion, at least insofar as Juju has known Citadel turians from twenty-something, off-duty C-Sec grunts, to diplomats, is very layered, colorful but muted, interesting as hell. Vetra likes leggings, and what must be the turian version of sleeveless crop tops, and equally sleeveless shawl-like coverings. All in the same faded blue color. She’s focused on her scope, so it takes her a moment to notice Juju standing in theatrical disbelief; arms folded, hip popped, lips pursed in suspicion.

Vetra’s mandibles flare before her laughter tumbles through the air. “So which one got you?”

“The fucking C-4,” Juju laughs. “You found someone with C-4? You found someone with C-4 who was willing to give it up to _us_?”

“I did.” Vetra sounds proud of herself; she sets the gun down, leans back with confidence. “But it’s what they wanted in exchange that’s the kicker.”

Juju bites. “What’d they want?”

“They traded for...” Vetra look past her, and Juju turns to see Cora fiddling around the Nomad, pretending not to listen. Drack’s pleased chuckle is a deep croak high above their heads. “Very...specific porn vids, believe it or not.”

Juju’s head falls back and she makes a sound like a sigh shot through with a wail. Absolutely ridiculous. “Bombs for porn. You know, I feel like-”

“You wanna know how I got it?” Vetra’s voice is tight with glee. “It’s a good story.”

“Then we needs drinks and snacks,” Juju decides, giggling. She leans against Vetra’s desk, folding her arms against the air conditioning’s chill. “How about instead of another morning chat, we get drinks and you tell me about how you found this very _specific_ porn that got you a pound of C-4.”

“Two and a half pounds even, and done because it needs to be appreciated properly. Drack knows, but Drack’s a thousand years old and doesn’t appreciate half the things I tell him.”

“That’s ‘cus if you seen one porn vid, you seen ‘em all. Trust me,” Drack grumbles overhead.

Juju doesn’t quite think that’s true, but she lets it go. She tells Vetra she needs five minutes. She goes to pee and grab her jacket, wonders if she should see if anyone else wants to join. But then she’s tugging Vetra from her desk because this story is now the only important thing, at least until the transponder’s online, and god she should have taken the drink Vidal had offered her since she’d had to pay for it in the end anyway-

“Ryder, it’s Brodie. Cracked the coconut, as it were. I’m ready to power it up and I think now is about the time you’re useful again.”

Damn. Juju steps back from the ship’s exit, and lets go of Vetra’s hand. She hadn’t even realized she’d still been holding her, their fingers laced as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vetra is kinda hot shit, Juju is kinda a hot mess, it's all good.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments are love!


	3. Tactic

Juju is pinned behind half a wall for cover, sweating in her armor, trying to decide how best to survive this ship. The wall trembles with each shot it takes for her and she can hardly hear herself for the noise. Kett are loud: their guns, their clanging armor, their constant screaming.

Sometimes, Juju’s intrusive thoughts are not only untimely, but comical; she’s suddenly thinking about how she’s an entire galaxy and 600 years away from home and there are still cicadas. Yes, there are cicadas in Andromeda; they’re just genocidal and carry guns here.

This is _not_ the time to laugh _,_ but that’s a great mental image. Juju can work with that, shame she hadn’t thought of it earlier, but earlier she’d been scared absolutely shitless. Now, she’s only scared sort of shitless, which is workable. She can do this.

Their assault on the Kett flagship had started off full of surprises, including finding the Salarian Ark and Pathfinder. Another Pathfinder; Juju nearly leapt for joy at finding Raeka, someone whose profile fit the job, someone who had known her father and had been like her father in all the ways someone should be like her father.

Juju isn’t leaving this stupid ship without her.

She jumps violently at a loud boom, bracing as her already precarious cover shakes. Before she’s hit by debris she rolls out of its way, and keeps rolling until she rolls right into Liam.

“You alright?” he yells above the noise, focusing his fire on the kett trying to bum-rush them. He’s sweating, face slick and hair damp, but he doesn’t look too bad. Not quite enjoying this, but definitely not scared shitless. And if anyone’s face tells the truth, it’s Liam’s.

“I’m good.” Juju finds her footing and snaps up during a lull to let off a few rounds. “Working it out.” They’re close to the Archon’s chambers. They just need to _get_ there. “These fuckers will _not_ let up.” She looks over and sees Vetra and Drack ahead, keeping the mech occupied while the rest of them handle the kett chosen that slip out and over crates and walls like roaches. Jaal and Peebee take each of the far sides and seem to be holding their own, picking off the bastards who try and flank them, but the Kett are focusing in the center.

“We gotta push harder, Ryder.”

_“Push,” Lorenz would tell her as she held that eerie, violent energy in her hands like water. It dribbled through the cracks in her fingers, slid over her arms, refusing the containment she willed on it. “Push it, Juj. It’s yours; you don’t need to convince it, just yourself. Then, you can do whatever the fuck you want with it. Watch.” Power appeared in his hands like it had always been there; he gave a little running start before volleying lance after lance of biotic energy at the row of practice dummies._

Cora is already floating a trio of grunts in the air, sapping their shields before draining their lives, her helmet’s visor glowing with her biotic light. She remembers Cora being surprised that the Ryder twins were biotic, and a little put-out that Juju knew _she_ was. Like their intel had gotten mixed up, her father giving where he usually withheld and withholding where he usually gave. And they hadn’t really coordinated their powers since. Cora’s definitely stronger, but Juju’s fast. It’d make for good shit if they could get it together.

“Fuck,” Juju mutters. By the looks of her map she thinks they’re close enough that this could be it. The last wave, and though they need to get back, they’ve got enough ammo for the return. They can splurge a little here, and if they have Raeka’s help on the way back it’ll be even better.

Not if; when. Juju is not leaving this ship without Pathfinder Raeka.

Strategy is where Juju manages to fuck up the least. She’s good at that, but only under pressure. She clicks onto the open connection so everyone can hear.

“We can’t hold here, _we’re almost there_. We gotta push. I want that thing blown up; Nyx, Drack, fall back, light it up. Kosta, keep doing what you’re doing. Harper, start throwing shit at them. Peebee, Jaal, as soon as that’s thing’s down I want a tight core.”

“Throwing shit?” Cora isn’t far from Juju and Liam, and she snaps her head their way in what is most certainly disbelief. But then, she’s been looking at Juju in disbelief since the first.

“Throwing shit!” Juju yells before popping up from her cover and volleying lance after crackling lance at the rush of kett that seem to know what she’s thinking. After a stunned moment Cora follows suit, and they thin the horde together until Juju sees the rapid winking of bombs about to detonate, decorating the mech like celebratory buttons.

“Shit! Get down!”

The explosion is bone-rattling and excellent; it takes out the mech and all but a handful of the kett. They pick off that stunned handful gleefully, vaulting over their battered cover like a bunch of troublemaking kids on their second wind.

Juju ends up being right; that was the last of them and they’re almost immediately running into the door that SAM says is The Door. Juju zones in on its locks and pulls them apart giddily, fingers flying over her omni-tool interface. Doesn’t matter where or when, a door is a fucking door and she’s been picking locks since she was ten. Back then she hadn’t had such pretty toys.

But she misses the trap that should have been like the archaic red STOP signs they still have on earth.

_Ryder, Cautio-_

Even SAM is a bit too late, and her squad follows her in without a second thought and her stomach drops before the Archon ever walks in.

When he does, it’s like everything they’ve been doing in Andromeda so far solidifies, strengthened by this core that is him. He’s at the center of it all. He has to be. A cartoon character with his bloated ego, but the look in his eyes is anything but; he’s dead there. His voice is low and deep as he strips away at what makes her human until all that’s left is what makes her fodder. Juju shrinks back as much as he can as he crowds her; this, she thinks, is the kind of creature that breaks species down for kindling, burns it for themselves, warm on life stolen by the bulk.

God, she’s supposed to be _good_ at tactic. Who the fuck waltzes into The Room without triple checking their shit?

The Archon says something about her almost being a worthy opponent, like this is a fun game and not the sort of disaster they’ve all been living for the last couple months.

“Listen,” she hisses, “ _fuck_ you and your whole goddamn-”

The Archon reaches out and wraps his callous hand around her neck fast as a whip, his grip tight enough to shut her up and loose enough to let her breathe as he examines her. Turns her head from one side to the other. The scowl on his strangely human face is that of someone unimpressed.

Juju sneers; bugs are bugs, doors are doors, bullies are goddamn bullies, anywhere.

His needle, the thinnest lance of the hottest heat, is in her neck before she can scream, trying and failing to shake him off. She does the only other thing she can think of, and spits. It hits him in the center of his face, and his left hook comes as fast as the needle had, and she’s spitting blood.

 _No serious injuries, Juju._ SAM says as she hangs in the air, watching the Archon leave. Too confident. In control. Her heart beats like hummingbird wings and her face is hot, hot, _hot_ as she fights against the barrier.

_I need options, SAM._

SAM gives her options. An option. SAM is good enough to only relay the essentials aloud. The rest is like an echo just beneath her skin. Juju can hear her blood rushing in her ears, feel it throb at her temples; the Archon’s probe rides her blood flow like a wave. SAM is there, his access to her body’s buttons makes her want to die just to be rid of him.

She’d been doing so well at keeping calm about the AI in her head until now. Until now, she’d thought it was all her. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it’s SAM, pushing buttons.

Fuck.

“Nothing else?” Vetra’s voice is shrill from where she floats behind Juju. Until now, she’d been growling in that double-trill. “SAM, what the fuck, there’s _nothing_ else?”

“Nothing that I can determine.”

“Then _determine harder_ ,” Jaal growls.

“Ryder...?” Cora says, breathless.

Tactic, tactic; Juju thinks about SAM’s configuration. Her father must have given the AI so much control for a reason, right? He was nothing if not a careful man; he’d trusted it. And he had given his own life without the promise of revival, for the mission, for her. He had, _he_ had...

Dr. T’Perro says that while looking to her father’s memory for guidance is healthy, comparing herself is not. It’s common enough sense, but it sounds so much better coming from a doctor whether or not she actually implements it.

“Do it.” Juju closes her eyes. They need to get free. They need to help Raeka. They’re dead if they don’t get out of this goddamned web. And if they’re dead, and Raeka is dead, then everyone is fucked.

_Are you certain?_

_No. Yes. Fuck. Just do it._

Death hurts a little before it swallows whole. Quicker than last time.

*

_“Hey Juby.”_

_“No.” Juju floats away from her father, still in his N7 armor, a bruise on his face that Juju doesn’t remember him having before he died. “No. Get away from me, daddy. I’ve seen enough vids.”_

_Alec laughs. “I miss you, Juby. And your brother. Is he awake yet? ‘Cus he’s definitely not here.”_

_“I’m just waiting, daddy.” Juju folds her arms. “Waiting for this thing you built to work.”_

_Everything around them is inky black, the pair of them like glowing, brown angels in the abyss. Just her and her father, and a fucking pinprick of light in the distance behind him. Just like in the goddamned vids._

_“Why are you dead, baby girl?” Her father’s image floats closer, and she drifts away. “I know they didn’t get my baby girl.”_

_This is the softer side of her father, something she hadn’t seen since before waking up in Andromeda. It always confused her because he always seemed diminished the sweeter he became, like it took something vital away from him. Like it was the reason why she saw it so rarely._

_“Stay away from me. I’m waiting. I have to get back. Andromeda’s a shitshow. It keeps getting- stay_ back, _daddy.” Juju raises her voice when the image tries its luck. She raises her hands and drifts off, the darkness slipping around her glow like oil, her light impervious to the soft dark urge. “I can’t.”_

_“Do you want to?”_

_“Not really.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Never have. Not to see you again. Not for anything.” Not even to get rid of SAM, if she’s honest. Juju has never truly wanted to die._

_“And what about me?”_

_The soft English accent is like a song cut through the dark, and Juju stiffens as it digs into her, slicing as easy as a freshly sharpened blade. She knows who it is without looking, and god, she can’t look._

_But she still has to ask. “Mum?”_

“Ryder!”

“God...”Juju comes back to life with a shriek caught in the claws of a gasp, her chest on fire, tears in her eyes. She comes back to life all at once, the shock of it nearly pushing her to her feet before she loses momentum and falls back with a thud.

Oh, but _god_. She lay on that floor and exhales, and she feels...good?

Yeah.

“Fuck!” Vetra’s voice is the snap of a bullet out the gun.

“Jubilee, get up,” Jaal pleads.

“She’s breathing, she’s back.”

Juju sees Liam grinning down at her, nodding.

“Alright, Ryder. Alright, thank fuck.”

She can feel the strength seeping back into her as warm as sunshine, and she knows it’s SAM. So much of her, now, is SAM.

_I am here for you, Juju._

_Right._ Juju climbs to her feet, stretches like she’s just woken up instead of coming back from the dead. Where the Archon injected her aches; it spreads down her spine. Where he punched her throbs, and she still tastes her blood. Aside from this, she doesn’t feel any worse for wear.

And she feels good. Like, clear. Like that’s exactly what she needed.

 _This is crazy shit,_ she thinks. _This isn’t real._

_It is._

“That’s two,” she says to no one in particular, but maybe only SAM, before she goes to find the off switch for this god-forsaken trap. “That’s twice, now.”

 

***

When the _Tempest_ docks at the Nexus with Ark _Paarchero_ in tow, its crew tumble out of the ship disappear into the station. Everyone needs a break, and they only have, hopefully, the promised 48 hours to their advantage.

Vetra is still panicking very quietly on the inside. She goes to see her sister. Sid is working when they dock, so Vetra passes through Communications to see her, waving before heading to their apartment. It’s so tidy; Vetra had never gotten the hang of organization outside of work, so she doesn’t really know where Sid got it from. Probably a spite thing, but if this is how she rebels then shit, she can rebel forever.

On reflex Vetra goes to check her messages; she’s about to click on the first one before she hesitates. When a job is taxing she’ll bury herself in more work after - she knows this much about herself. And that ends up being more stress.

“I don’t have to do anything right now,” she says aloud, closing out of her messages. The Tempest is set for a while already and even if it wasn’t, whatever they need can wait until she lay down for a few hours. Ryder had given them the 48 and the possibility of an extension, depending how it goes with leadership. She’d looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes only partially hidden by makeup. Vetra had felt that weariness in her chest; it had made her tired just looking at Ryder.

Pulling off her jacket and boots and flopping onto the bed feels like a slice of paradise she can drown in; Vetra sighs loudly and she sinks into the mattress. Everyone says the beds are a little stiff, but Vetra thinks the other species are just too soft on the outside. It feels good to her.

She doesn’t realize she’s dozed off until a noise shocks her awake.

“Safe!” Sid says sharply, holding both hands up. She’s in the room’s small kitchenette, which means Vetra had missed her coming in.

Vetra curses; every muscle in her body is tense, she has to actively fight the urge to _fight_. “Shit, Sidera-”

“ _Safe_.” Sid folds her arms. Now she’s just being stubborn. But rules are rules, and they _are_ Vetra’s rules.

“Safe,” Vetra says, mimicking her sister’s raised hands. After a moment, they both nod.

“All everyone is talking about is the _Tempest_ , which isn’t out of the ordinary really- whenever you dock you’re all we talk about- but _shit,_ Vetra. Everything sounds scarier than last time.” Sid launches into conversation like she hadn’t just scared her shitless, finishing whatever she was doing in the kitchenette before Vetra woke up and coming to sit on the edge of the bed. Sid is always quick- quick mind, quick feet, quick mouth. The Communications job bores her to death, but it’s safe and pays well.

“Gets worse before it gets better,” Vetra quips, tossing one of the pillows at her and laughing when she flicks it away, unsurprised and unfazed. “What do you want to know? I’m so tired, I’ll tell you.”

“Really?”

“Really.” Maybe not about what the Kett are truly doing; that's something Vetra doesn't want to even utter on the Nexus. She left it on the Tempest and she figures it'll be just as heavy and horrifyng when she gets back there. 

Sid stares Vetra down until she decides she’s being truthful then moves, coming to sit under her like she had as a little kid. Doesn’t fuss when Vetra wraps an arm around her. While she thinks on her first question it’s quiet, and Vetra remembers when this was normal. When they were both kids really, when little Sidera would nap pressed up against Vetra’s side. She wouldn’t know if Vetra had a bad bruise under her clothes, or she wouldn’t notice new cuts in her carapace. The quick eyes didn’t develop until later on, in these last few teenaged years.

“Aw man,” Sid says, defeat flattening her voice. “It’s not as fun as when I have to beat you over the head for it. Well, how’d you all get out of there? Dozens of kett with guns on their own turf, seven of you. How...how do you do _anything_ with just seven people?”

Vetra laughs. “You get the right people, maybe you can do anything.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“I do!” she protests, jostling her sister. “We’re gonna get this cluster together. We found another Ark, another Pathfinder. We’re only getting stronger.”

Vetra really does believe it. She thinks they can do anything, including reach this Meridian. Including finding the rest of the Arks. Including getting rid of the kett and getting a moment to truly breathe, none of this 48-hour shit, running around and trying to simulate relaxation on a timer.

Sid pokes her in the fleshy middle of her torso and Vetra jerks away, swatting at her giggling sister. She won’t ask what’s got her in such a cuddly mood; things like this are so rare that it’s just better to enjoy them when they come around.

“One of these days I’m gonna strongarm you into bringing me along. I know there’s room on that ship,” Sid says.

“Oh, there’s plenty of room on the ship,” Vetra agrees, “just absolutely none for you.”

“Jerk.”

“I’m okay with it.”

 

Later, she learns that Sid sometimes works two shifts in a cycle (“I’m stuck here, might as well make money”) and walks her back over to comms. The Nexus is slowly awakening; with Prodromos holding strong and other outposts marked, more and more colonists wake up to less good news than expected, but more than they’d started out with. On their end it must look like everything’s falling to shit. They don’t know how hard it has been to even get this far; it’s not their fault, though. It’s not their job.

“Spirits, she’s tiny.”

“Hmm?” Vetra looks at where her sister gawks, arm slung casually around her shoulder.

Juju is with Kandros in security, saying something that has the security director’s attention. She gestures rapidly and Kandros seems to keep up, nodding at intervals, his mandibles waving as he laughs at whatever she tells him. Her braids fall to the middle of her back and shakes as she moves, little shiny beads glinting at their ends. Vetra has never seen the beads before.

Sid hasn’t seen the Pathfinder anywhere but in vids, she realizes.

“She’s actually gotten bigger,” Vetra says. “She lifts weights a lot.” Nothing ridiculously heavy in Vetra’s opinion, but Juju looked near to wasting away when she first met her. What turned out to be a wiry sort of strength, almost like turians except turians are dense, has simply been reinforced. Still, it’d take a lot to be seen as anything but tiny to a turian’s eye.

Sid giggles. “Paying attention, huh? Watching her work out? I mean, she’s pretty cute. You think she’s cute?”

Vetra stiffens. “You’re gonna be late for your shift, Sidera.”

“Oooh, _Sidera_.” Sid backs away, eyes comically wide. “Didn’t mean to hit a nerve. Or did I? Hi, Pathfinder Ryder!” she calls, waving to Juju as she hurries away, before Vetra can throttle her. “Thanks for all of your hard work!”

Juju waves back, a little confused until she sees Vetra and smiles, and Vetra is rooted to the spot. She watches her finish with Kandros, who claps her warmly on the shoulder and almost topples her over, before she comes her way.

“Hey,” she says, nodding, “you alright?”

“Uh, yeah?” Vetra shifts her weight to her other side. “I’m fine?”

“Well, it’s just you were quiet on the way back, then you disappeared. Figured you just needed down time. We don’t get enough of it,” she shrugs, playing with one of her long braids. “I wish I could tack on a few more hours to that 48 - well, more like 36 now-  but even if you-know-what is taking a while, we have other things to do.”

You-know-what, Juju’s clever code for pretty much everything they do. Could mean anything they don’t want any curious station personnel to hear. In this case, it means Meridian, and it means finding the other Arks.

“I’m always ready to go,” Vetra says, “but are _you_ alright? You’re the one that...you-know-what.”

Aside from Lexi giving Juju not one but two check-ups, no one has mentioned Ryder dying. At least, not to Ryder’s face. But watching her fall like that to the ground - almost like she’d been shot - had shaken everyone present, Vetra included. She never wants to see it again.

It hits a chord; Vetra can see the tension clamp Juju for a split second, sees her pinch her braid between two fingers, before it’s gone.

“I’m good,” Juju assures her. “I took a nap, had some bad coffee, had some food. Had as close to fresh air as we’ll get on the Nexus...” she turns suddenly. From her station Sid is clearly visible, and clearly watching. “Is that...your sister over there?” Juju asks, waving again.

Vetra groans. “Yeah, that’s Sid. I’ll be honest, she’s...mostly trying to embarrass- wait,” she calls after Juju who struts over to Sid immediately. She’s so quick, Vetra has to jog to catch up, pleading in her head for her sister to behave.

As one of her old mates used to say, “fat chance.”

Sid clearly hadn’t expected for Ryder to be so forward; she seems a bit starstruck as the Pathfinder shakes her hand.

“I’m Juju. It’s good to meet you in person,” she says cheerfully.

“Hi,” Sid says, dumbfounded. She looks at Vetra, then back at the Pathfinder, then back at Vetra. Vetra just smirks. For all her teasing, maybe Sid has as big a crush on the Pathfinder as...

Shit. Vetra. Vetra doesn’t have a crush on the Pathfinder, Vetra doesn’t _have_ crushes.

“It must be a nice job, working here,” Juju continues. “Especially now we’ve got more feelers out. Lot of signal, lot of information bouncing back this way.”

“I would rather be in the action than just hearing about it though,” Sid says quietly. Sid’s never quiet, never timid. That’s not a word in the Nyx household; it takes everything in Vetra not to laugh. It’s cute. “Feels useless, sitting here listening.”

“It’s not.” Juju touches Sid’s arm and Vetra swears her sister’s life has been made. “Trust me, it’s not. But I get it. My brother...wishes he were out there, too. But there’s gonna always be something. More than enough to go around.”

Sid seems to deflate a little at that, and Vetra doesn’t know whether to be glad or sad about it. “Won’t argue with the Pathfinder.”

“ _Please_ argue with the Pathfinder,” Juju insists, coming close so she can whisper, “I deal with Tann and Addison, I need the prac- This is Ryder,” she switches, patting Sid to excuse herself as she turns away. “Right. Okay. Coming. Gotta go,” she flashes the both an apologetic smile. “Later, Vetra. Hey Sidera, I’ll link you up to my terminal and send you stuff. Pictures, vids of the places we land. Yeah?” she asks as she leaves, trotting away as quickly as she came, the shiny beads at the end of each of her five braids bouncing in the middle of her back. Moving through the Nexus, she looks utterly at home and, in a strange way, utterly in charge without the overbearing shadow that Tann attempts and in which Addison succeeds. People watch her as she passes as if they can’t help it, like she’s a small planet of her own and everyone must eventually be caught in her orbit.

Vetra would agree. The Pathfinder has a way about her and from what she’s gleaned so far, it’s as inherited as her job.

“That’s who you work for, huh,” Sid says, mandibles flaring in what humans, translated into their smooth cheeks and color changes, would call a blush. “Jeez, Vetra. You’re fucked. Please marry her.”

“The Pathfinder’s just really nice. She isn’t interested,” Vetra says dismissively. And why would she be? She’s not the kind of person Vetra attracts. Not who sees something in her worth investigating on that level. A friend, sure. Vetra has all sorts of friends, and her friends are usually better than her flings. “And neither am I, for the record.”

There’s absolutely no time. Even if Juju were the kind of person to want to pursue Vetra, or be pursued by Vetra, there’s too much riding on them to even consider it. Bad strategy. That’s just facts.

“I’m your sister,” Sid reminds her, and leaves it at that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for your patience! Am trying for more regularity from now on.  
> Feel free to let me know what you think, and thanks for reading. :)


	4. Circuitry

There aren’t enough people on the Nexus yet to disappear in a crowd, and so when Juju visits Vortex bar there is no swell of bodies to hide her There aren’t enough people both awake and on the station; even with the addition of the salarians and some angara, Juju feels like all eyes are on her. Since that first, celebratory stream from Prodromos, she feels like some strange approximation of a celebrity. No one’s falling at her feet, not even close, but everyone marks her. Everyone sees her. Even with Prodromos starting to, dare she say it, flourish, and even with the success of finding the salarian ark, Juju is still proving herself to humans at least. She knows that she’ll be proving herself until she finds humanity a home.

And that means all eyes on her.

That thought alone is enough for three shots of mystery booze from the strange, bickering bartenders. Juju leans onto the bar after that third shot, a bit of alcohol spilling down her chin, sliding down her neck, into her cleavage, and she snickers as she dabs herself dry with a napkin. In the corner she doesn’t draw too much attention beyond everyone knowing that the human Pathfinder is in the bar tonight, which is good. She feels like she’s on water and she’s really, really warm. After three shots of whatever this alcohol is, it doesn’t matter who she is. It doesn’t matter she’s spent most of her free time on the Nexus sitting with her comatose brother. It doesn’t matter that she’s wearing her father’s dog tags, or that she died less than a week ago, or that her mouth is still a little swollen from being decked by the mad scientist of a genocidal alien race. She’s just a woman at the bar, dressed in a well-worn pair of stiletto booties, jeans, a strappy blouse.

Three shots of what tastes like generic blue candy and breaks her out in a sweat when it goes down. Human-safe, strong, one-of-a-kind. For a disgruntled scientist, Dutch certainly does enjoy playing mixologist.

On the dancefloor, humans, asari, turians, and even an angara meld into each other, swaying to milky way music, talking beneath the noise, fairly contained. Juju wouldn’t quite call it a club, it’s neither that big nor that full, but the scene reminds her of clubs. It’s almost like all of the arks made it to the Nexus safely and they were already turning this space station into the Citadel clone it hoped to be one day. Truth is, they’re not even close. Maybe in a few thousand more pioneers found, defrosted and deposited into the Nexus fabric.

“You want another?” The bartender Anan slips the empty shot glass from between her fingers, slowly. The sort of slick advance Juju likes to both give and receive, so she smiles at her. She still has no idea how to age Asari, but Anan is very pretty.

“I’d like a water,” she says sweetly. She’ll be damned if she has to walk back to the _Tempest_ barefoot so she doesn’t bust her ass.

“I’ll take a shot of whatever doesn't kill me.” Vetra appears at the counter like she’d always been there, forgotten by a girl three shots deep into experimental liquor. “Just one.” She tilts her head at Juju and winks. “Hey.”

“And where the hell did you come from?” Juju giggles, scooting around on her stool as Anan goes for their drinks. Vetra looks like she belongs in a club; her black attire looks patterned in the bar light; it bares her arms, her collar, her midriff, and at the same time it looks like she gets paid to beat people up. Which she probably has been. And, technically, it’s part of what she is currently paid to do.

“I’ve been here about an hour, doing things I’ll have no problem telling you about when you’re sober and on the _Tempest._ I’ll even send you an email.”

“I love your emails,” Juju blurts, flushing when Vetra just laughs. “I do. You never have typos.”

“I’m a professional, you know.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really, really.” The tease in her voice is playful, and Juju wonders if she can see her blush. She’s not light enough, but she’s been told even other species have other ways of telling.

Anan comes back with their drinks. She doesn’t flirt this time, but she’s not unfriendly when they toss smalltalk back and forth before she leaves again. Vetra watches her walk away before examining her shot; she sniffs it, squints at it while raising it to one of the colored lights, before knocking it back.

Juju just watches her. Liquid brazenness melts away her usual apprehensions at looking too long. If she’s not careful she thinks she could find herself looking too long at Vetra often. God knows she’s not careful now, eyeing smooth-looking hide and her lanky, sharp build like some cad. Citadel life had broadened her standards of beauty from childhood; she’s not sure if that’s why her parents raised them there instead of Earth, but it’s a welcome side effect.

Vetra is a very pretty turian.

Juju’s crushes rarely embarrass her; she’s never ashamed of having crushes. Lorenz thinks she has good taste, which is a compliment from the pickiest Ryder sibling. But, her crushes are usually practical. People she can navigate, open; someone she could _get_ if she really wanted.. Vetra isn’t the getting type. Vetra is an island.

A beautiful goddamned island.

Juju’s cheeks warm again when Vetra meets her gaze and gives a little disregarding laugh. She adjusts in her seat, leaning forward though she looks at the floor, now. Her shot glass shakes every time she taps her buffed, rounded claws against it. She’s quiet; Juju doesn’t know why she’s come to spend time with her at the bar, especially if she was here on other business, but she’s glad.

“You look good in stuff like that,” she presses on, sipping her water and waving her hand at Vetra’s body. “I, uh, like how you dress.”

It seems to take her back; Vetra hadn’t expected that.

“Thanks,” she says hesitantly. “You too- I like how you dress, too. I like your shoes.”

Right. Turians don’t wear heels; Juju hasn’t seen so much as an exaggerated platform on any of the footwears she has seen them in.

In what is part showing off her spectacular leg strength and part alcohol, Juju lifts her leg just above Vetra’s lap, turning her ankle so the boot gets good light on both sides.

“They’re not even practical,” Juju muses. “They’re just to...visually appeal. The shape, and then they make us walk...watch.”

The floor doesn’t quite spin when she stands but it’s a little unsteady. Still, Juju walks a straight light in her heels, switching the way she only ever does in five-inch boots. She can’t deny that walking in heels makes her feel like a queen. Poised and dangerous. Sexy.

She turns back to Vetra, emboldened when she sees green eyes rapt on her.

“See?” She struts back, leaning against the bar counter instead of sitting down, an blatant excuse to be close. Just in case Vetra wants to compliment any other piece of clothing. “And they make your feet hurt after a while. But I’ve got a few pair anyway.”

“You like them, even though they hurt?” Vetra asks. She looks Juju over from head to toe, slowly, like she’s taking her in for the first time, and it makes Juju’s back tingle. “Do they hurt now?”

“Nah, I’ve been sitting mostly. But um, I like what they do for me, you know? I like how people look at me when I’m wearing them.” She smiles when Vetra’s wandering gaze snaps back to eye contact. Turians don’t blush, but her little mandibles are doing some sort of waving that might be similiar; her green eyes are wide and nervous, caught in the act.

Juju’s smile widens; she rests her head in her hand, but doesn’t break that contact. God, she likes Vetra. And it's fun to tease her, to flirt without really pushing at it. And then there’s the whole island thing: always easier to flirt when you think the person’s unattainable. There’s no harm then. No hurt feelings.

“You two sure you don’t want another round?” Anan appears and startles them both. The bartender rolls her eyes in the pretty, unbothered way one might when they aren’t surprised at something, but maybe just a little disappointed.

“No, thanks.” Vetra stands, stretching her long limbs. “We should get back to the ship, Ryder.”

“Ah, yeah,” Juju shakes her head, pushing off of the counter. “I still need to sober up from Dutch’s first round.”

“Doesn’t look like it hit you too tough,” Anan says lightly. And she’s right; just enough to flirt with her shipmate. Enough to make the steady ground a little less steady. She needs more water, some crackers, a bathroom break, and she’ll be right as rain.

“Work to do,” she retorts kindly, winking at Anan. “But thanks.”

Beckoning to Vetra, she walks away from the bar and through the thinning crowd. Because shifts are how they are, and because it’s currently the only bar on the station, she hears that Vortex is never empty during business hours. Juju thinks they’d do well to appreciate that while they have that monopoly. Maybe get a better DJ while they’re at it.

Outside, the cool air immediately makes her think she might be a bit more drunk than she thought. She sucks in the crisp air like water though, and it helps clear her head. Which, of course, makes the spinning more pronounced.

“You alright?” Vetra catches her under the arm when she loses her balance.

“Heels also make it harder to play off your drink,” Juju mutters, flushing again though for markedly different reason. “I’m fine.”

“We’re going down a ramp...” Vetra lets her go, but hovers close. Juju eyes the decline in question and shrugs, holding onto the rail.

“I’ve got it.”

They descend slowly on her account, Vetra just inching alongside her quietly, letting her take her time. Juju thanks the heavens when they make it back on level ground. It's one thing to let the booze make her a little brave, and entirely another to let it turn her sloppy; Juju likes to drink and likes to party and really likes to flirt, but she likes to be in control. You couldn’t find too many souls on the Citadel that could say they’d seen Jubilee-Jude Ryder messy in the club. Risque? Sure, but never messy.

They board the Tempest, passing Drack quietly. He doesn’t sleep much, but if he’s up and about at night it’s best to leave him be. That, and he still hasn’t forgiven Juju for leaving his scouts behind to die on the kett transport.

She walks past him with her gaze averted.

“He’ll come around,” Vetra says when they’re out of earshot, waiting for the lift.

“Would you?” Juju steps onto the platform, shrugging. “I mean, realistically?”

“Eventually,” Vetra says, following suit. “I would, eventually. And so will he.”

“His timeframes are a lot longer than either of ours.” She braces herself when the lift descends and still stumbles. Vetra’s grip on her arm is quick and tight. “Thanks.”

“Not a problem.” They walk like that to Juju’s door. Free of the many smells of Vortex, Juju can smell something sweet on Vetra that isn’t alcohol. She can also smell alcohol. “See you in the morning, Ryder.”

“Juju.” She steps close, the effect not as pronounced since she’s the shorter of them. But bodies pressed together means pretty much the same thing, regardless of species _or_ height. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Vetra doesn’t step back; her eyes flick down at Juju’s chest. “Juju.”

“At least on downtime.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” She grins and puts respectable space between them. “Night, Vetra.”

“Night, Juju.”

Once the door closes and she’s alone in her room, Juju finally takes off her boots and the rest of her clothes. She’d filled her water canteen and left herself some crackers before going out to Vortex. There was alcohol on board; Juju could have just as easily drank with Liam and watched a vid but she just wanted to go out, to almost feel normal, before going back out into the cluster. Under different circumstances, Juju might have loved this job. If she’d applied for it, if she’d worked for it.

Some would argue that she has worked for it. That she’s proven herself. And while it makes sense, it still doesn’t feel like hers.Doesn’t feel like it fits.

So she’d just wanted to go try to fit somewhere that’s supposed to be home. Vetra was a nice surprise.

“I like her,” she says. This is the part where Lorenz would ham it up and make her wish she’d never said anything. But her brother always knew, whether she said something or not. He was the one that called her and Alessa getting together.

But this isn’t like her and Alessa. Juju might have married Alessa. Before the Initiative came into play they’d been official for a year and friends since the summer before Juju left for bootcamp. Lorenz had bet on years stacking up for them. Juju didn’t know exactly where her military career was going to take her but she knew she wanted Alessa with her, wherever she went. Just not this far. Not Andromeda. That would have ruined it.

She hasn’t thought about her ex-girlfriend since she woke up, she realizes. She has some vidmail Alessa sent her after she was sent to her first peacekeeping outpost, but she won’t look at it. She just brought it because she couldn’t leave it. But she’d promised Alessa not to do that. Not to miss her.

That was a stupid fucking promise, and one she can’t keep.

And here she is, heart still fluttering over flirting with Vetra, thinking about the past.

“I like her,” she says again, like it’s supposed to wash her memories away. So what if she likes Vetra? So what?

“You will feel better in the morning, Juju.” SAM says this aloud. By now it must know it can get her to do most things if it doesn’t constantly remind her that it’s in her head.

“Probably,” Juju sighs, falling into bed.

 

***

 

_Hey,_

_Still working on a write-up of my work last night a.k.a why I was at Vortex. It’s not as interesting as I might have made you think but it’s still back-alley, and I promised to keep you u2d on that. Nothing as fun as C-4 and weird porn, unfortunately. Or fortunately, I don’t know._

_Still haven’t told you that story by the way. It can wait, though. Maybe next time we’re on Kadara and get to a club worth dancing in. You dance?_

_Anyway, hope you’re feeling fine this morning. I’ll see you in the course of the day. That write-up should be in your inbox sometime today as well._

_-V_

_P.S. My sister can be a little much, but thanks for being nice to her yesterday._

 

Vetra thinks that’s neutral enough. In case Ryder is just a flirty drinker and doesn’t mean anything by it. In case, even if she does mean something by it, it’s still just fun. If it’s fun, Vetra doesn’t quite want to run her away. She likes it. She _likes_ Ryder but spirits help her, she won’t admit it to Sid. If she does, she’ll never hear the end of it, and what if it’s nothing? A lot of fun, cute nothing? Sid might be more disappointed than Vetra, whether or not she shows it, once their flirtation runs its course. Better to keep it quiet.

Plus, she’s not sure she wants to tell anyone about the Pathfinder putting her leg in Vetra’s lap, or pressing her hard-soft body against hers, or the way her hand had brushed against Vetra’s bare waist and made her want to melt into the floor. She doesn’t think even Sid needs to know about the Pathfinder’s tattooed chest and how Vetra isn’t particularly moved by human breasts as she knows others to be, but she’d want Ryder’s against her again.

It’s a lot, a rush of nervous energy that also feels good, and it’s better to keep it quiet. It’s not a new feeling; Vetra has felt it with others. Even Kravus. And she’d felt it go away again, too.

Quiet. Vetra reads over the e-mail a few times more, checking for typos, before she sends it off.


	5. Considering Wastelands

The  _ Tempest _ has been docked at Kadara Port for five days. Pathfinder team had activated Kadara’s monolith on the first day, and now the waters finally run clean. The many seeps dotting the landscape fill with newly potable water twinkling beneath the unforgiving sun like grains of glass.

Meridian might not yet be in reach, but there’s still things to do. Successes to celebrate.

At Suvi’s behest, Juju spends the better part of the morning testing the water, avoiding outcast and wildlife alike as much as she possibly can. There aren’t any more Kett in the badlands; she’d called up Kaetus to relay that happy bit of news yesterday. It had been accidental as she played sleuth with Reyes Vidal, following up on the port murders, when they’d ran right into them. The Kett had been just as surprised as them, but it worked out in Juju’s favor. A whole slew of them, too, in various levels of disarray. Even the Kett take naps, eat lunch, let their guard down after days relative quiet. They hadn’t been ready.

And now they’re gone. 

Juju has kept herself busy in the Kadaran badlands. Everyone knows by now that Kadara is special to her, that she wants that settlement and she’ll bend over backwards for Sloane Kelly if she can get it. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve tested every damn puddle and spring on this hellscape,” she says to whomever comes up behind her, their footsteps unrecognizable. Jaal and Liam had trekked out with her this morning, both men a little too excited for what so far has been, more than anything else, a scientific mission. “I think we’re good. And this means Sloane has no more excuses.”

She swishes her hands in the warm water; this seep, like all the others, holds water fit for drinking with a purification pill for good measure. A settlement wouldn’t have any issue installing its own systems, tap into whatever keeps these seeps filled. 

Jaal smiles as he crouches beside her, blue eyes round and happy. It’s a far cry from the wary look Juju thought would permanently twist his face when he first joined the team; for someone as sweet as Jaal, he has a stellar bitch face.

“You’re very adamant about your Kadaran settlement, dearest.”

“Yeah.” She lay her head on his shoulder and he leans into her, armor be damned. “We’re already here, Jaal.”

“You mean your outcasts?” He sounds doubtful. “Your Initiative is not on good terms with them.”

“But they’ll be on good terms with me.” Juju stands up, stretching, pulling Jaal up after her as much as she can. “Prodromos is on its own on Eos, Jaal. And that’s a desert. But we’re already here. It’s the least invasive, you know? Going forward. Of your people.”

Of course Juju had thought about what it’d mean to any new races they encountered in Andromeda that they came uninvited. But the entire scope of the project had always been beyond her and if her father was going, so was she. And since she went, so did Lorenz. They’d already lost one parent, and even though their father was...their father, they weren’t going to lose him, too.

“That is kind.” Jaal wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her into a half hug. “But Kadara won’t be your Initiative’s last settlement.”

Another truth. Juju knows that Tann is using her because she is what he has, and she knows he does not like her spending time on Kadara. Well, Juju doesn’t quite like the way Tann had gone about things regarding the Nexus mutiny, even if her conscience tells her she can’t judge either way. She hadn’t been there.

“If no one else outfits this place, it won’t ever be a settlement,” Juju says. That much is certain. “Their minds are already made up.”

“But yours is not.”

“Would’ve made a real bad judge,” she chuckles, nodding. Around them, the badlands stretch on forever, high into the sky up sand-colored mountains, and down into the pool-dotted, hilly plains. The sun is hot overhead, a warm day made better with stout winds. Without the stench of acidic water, it’s damn-near idyllic. Beautiful, and difficult, and never meant for them. But they’re here now. But it was never meant for them. 

“Maybe we were wrong, Jaal.”

“About?” Jaal helps her pack up her vials, passing her helmet and gloves which she reluctantly dons. 

“Coming here. Maybe we were wrong to come here. Maybe we were stupid to think we could just jettison ourselves into a new galaxy and fall into place. Even with the Pathfinders. We were arrogant.” Juju shakes her head. She thinks of the people still in cryo, waiting for something that may not come. Of all the people awake who are tired, somehow both hopeful and hopeless. Including herself. 

She doesn’t think about it very often because it can’t be helped. They’re here now, and they can’t go back.

“Perhaps.” Jaal falls into step with her as they head back to the Nomad. “It’s selfish of me, but if you never came here, I’d never have met such an astounding person.”

Juju laughs. “Jaal, please.” Even though she’s accustomed to his affection, it still makes her blush. 

“It’s true,” he insists, pulling her close so their armor clinks. “And maybe, hmm, you wouldn’t have met her.”

“Her?”

“Vetra,” he says softly, as if it’s the most obvious secret he shouldn’t have to name. Liam is blasting music out of the Nomad, and they’re still too far away for him to hear if he weren’t. “I’m happy for you, Jubilee. And also very concerned with the lacking public displays of Milky Way courtship.”

“There’s nothing to be happy about.” Juju cuts her eyes at him as she blushes hotter inside her helmet. “No one’s courting anyone.”

Ever since Vortex, Juju can admit she and Vetra have been more friendly, though mostly in passing; the  _ Tempest _ is big with a small crew and a ton of things to do. Not to mention Juju being in constant contact with Pathfinder Raeka, who lends her help in the search for the other Arks - there only really is ‘in passing’ to notice the meaningful smiles, the occasional teasing.

But no one’s  _ courting _ , for shit’s sake.

Jaal fixes her with a look. “I see. And just how long does the bashful denial last, usually?” 

For all of his frankness, he appreciates sarcasm as much as any of them; he simply grins when Juju glares at him. 

“Don’t act like I’m the only one who’s ever flirted with Vetra here, Jaal Ama Darav.”

A few days out from their last stretch on the Nexus, as Juju was in the midst of some hand-combat training with Cora and Liam, Vetra had come to join Jaal and Suvi in watching. Between Liam’s exaggerated flexing and Cora pretending not to be attracted to Vetra, as Cora is  _ not into women ( _ which tickles Suvi in particular _ ) _ , neither one had paid much attention to Juju’s own strutting. An unspoken truth of the  _ Tempest _ : everyone has a crush on Vetra. Juju hadn’t realized this truth until after meeting up with her at Vortex, but she hadn’t been surprised, either. In all honesty, it made her feel better. Of course she wants to rail Vetra until she forgets her name- doesn’t everybody? Isn’t that a thing?

“You aren’t the only one who looks at her,” Jaal agrees. “But I’m certain that you’re the only one she sees, Jubilee-Jude Ryder.”

Damn. Hearing it, even with Jaal’s sass, is something else. Hearing it makes her giddy.

She lands the lightest punch on his arm and he grins, because he knows. “We’re in the middle of a lot of bullshit, Jaal. So maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“Is that what you truly believe?” Jaal asks. Before Juju can respond, Liam pokes his head out of the Nexus, waving at them. They secured the area as soon as they stopped and Liam had opted for lookout while they tested their last seep. “Lookout” meaning he probably dozed in the Nomad until they finished.

At least he offers to drive. The second unspoken truth of the  _ Tempest _ is that Liam is the better driver. But, according to him, he can’t drive  _ and _ hold a gun, so getting him behind the wheel is rare. 

Back on board, Suvi seems pleased with their work, stealing away all their samples and tests and notes like a goblin. Whenever Juju delivers the vials, a twinge of jealousy tweaks her heart. Being stationed with scientists during her short Alliance days had made her realize just how much she loved research. Xeno-archaeology, xeno-botany; Juju loves old things, loves plants. She could spend her life studying the Helius cluster’s flora and be happy, she thinks. Maybe after; no one’s gonna deny her an apprenticeship after this, anyway. She’ll be able to get into whatever she wants as soon as she’s done being Pathfinder.

She’ll be done being Pathfinder one day.

*

“Hello, Pathfinder.” Reyes Vidal’s voice filters through the comms, his holo slightly glitchy, tweaking his neck every few seconds so it looks like his head floats free above his shoulders. “Long time, no see.”

“I saw you two days ago, Reyes.” Juju shakes her head. “What is it? I’m done with errands, remember?”

Working with Vidal proved easy enough. He’d helped her and and she has no problem returning the favor, but she thinks he’d drag her over every inch of Kadara and possibly beyond it if he had the chance.

He laughs now, tipping his head back. “I know. This will be much more fun; Sloane’s throwing a party tonight. Join me. Be my plus-one.”

Now, that is surprising; Juju arches her brow. “Why?”

Vidal’s holo tilts its floating head at her. “Because it gets you into the know? Because having the very pretty Pathfinder on my arm isn’t exactly a bad look? Because free, quality alcohol?” He smiles, and it looks like a glitch in the projection rather than anything to seduce an agreement. She wonders if he knows she’s not quite that easy but then maybe, like so many other things, that doesn’t matter either. All that matters is what she’s gonna do.

And anything resembling normalcy - like a party - is welcome these days. Juju craves it, feeling like everything is fine. So maybe, these days, she  _ is _ that easy.

“Well then,” she laughs, and it’s at least half genuine, “send me details and I’ll meet you there.”

“Dress to impress. Me,” he adds before signing off. 

Juju shakes her head, scoffing. In another world, he’d be the exhilarating, sexy bad boy he’s trying to be, for sure. Here, Juju can’t shake the feeling that he’s onto something else. 

And this party that Sloane Kelly hadn’t quite invited her to is also something else. But in a dress, and with a drink, she can almost pretend it isn’t.

“I’ll need your help, SAM,” she says later, as she rummages through her clothes. There isn’t much; she’s mostly outfitted by the Initiative with a handful of plain clothes she didn’t think she’d need. And even still, one must always pack a few party outfits. You never know.

“Of course, Juju. I will assist in character assessment of the various people you meet tonight.”

“Thanks.” She’s trying to get back to where she was before with SAM, but the events on the kett flagship are still too fresh. She knows that SAM is observing regardless of how she feels, and possibly more  _ because _ of how she feels, but she doesn’t have to hear him. There’s something to be said about SAM respecting her wishes to stay mostly silent.

Juju dresses herself with extra care because it’s nice to have the chance. On the  _ Tempest _ , it’s usually a quick shower and rub down of lotion, sometimes the headscarf is re-tied because the hair is hopeless or because helmets and kett don’t care about her edges. Luxuriating feels wasteful, and Juju needs to be moving, producing, doing  _ something _ useful out here. Off the Nexus she’s about as frugally efficient with her personal care as humanly possible on a spaceship.

She’s just finished applying gloss over ink-black lipstick, dress still unzipped to catch the cool breeze on her back from the vents when someone knocks on her door.

“Two seconds.” She gets the zipper up as far as she can before opening the door.

Oh.

“Hey.” Vetra leans in the doorway. Juju probably imagines green eyes sliding over her body with more than passing interest, but she doesn’t imagine the butterflies in her own stomach.

Fuck.

“Hey,” she says, “Uh, what’s up?”

“Literally just found out I’ll be on port this evening, so I just thought I’d say you can hail me if you need anything tonight. Backup. If you need any backup,” Vetra adds quickly. “The port’s a cease-fire but that doesn’t seem to stop trouble. And you’re...” her gaze sweeps over Juju again “...gonna be vulnerable. In a room full of people who aren’t chummy with the Initiative. Not saying you need _. _ ..just...call me  _ if _ you need me, I’ll be around.”

Juju nods, remembering Jaal’s words with more clarity than she’d like. She isn’t blind. And she isn’t dumb. But something, like a roadblock when you’ve been doing well on that sketchy back road, won’t let her  _ accept _ that it’s anything more than play. 

“Thanks. But, you know, I’m never really unarmed.” Juju snaps her fingers and a violet spark flips into the air, electric bright until it dissipates. “You could do me a favor now, though.”

“What do you...huh.”

Juju turns around and presents Vetra her back and a dress about one-third of the way zipped.

Juju can play all day.

“You mind zipping me up?”

Back on the Citadel she’d heard that many turians appreciated the the musculature on other species more than anything. Juju’s been making use of the weights; she rolls her shoulders to accentuate that very fact.

Vetra gives a breathy little laugh, the kind Juju would call nervous. “Don’t mind at all.”

Juju shivers when Vetra gathers her braids to lay them over her shoulder. The tips of her claws just barely touch skin that’d be all too fragile beneath them, a careful and slight drag. Slight pressure as she holds the bottom of the zip, a thick, pointed knuckle in the small of Juju’s back. Vetra zips her up in one slow tug, and Juju’s dress forms to her body. It’s nothing but deep blue spandex that rides high on her thighs and cuts a notch too low on her chest.

“Thanks.” She faces Vetra again, unsubtly smoothing the already smooth fabric over her waist. “I was told to dress to impress. Reyes’s payment for getting me into the party.” 

“He won’t know what hit him.” Vetra stands in the doorway as Juju slips into heels and her leather jacket. She has her omni-tool and so her omni-blade, which makes her feel more secure.

“It’s not him I’m worried about.” Juju checks her makeup before crowding Vetra out of the doorway. “Good luck with...whatever shady shit you’re up to.”

“Only ever the best kind of shady shit, Ryder.” Vetra grins.

“Is that a thing?” Juju smirks when she just shrugs.

“If it’s not, it is now. Have fun.”

“Always do,” Juju nods, flips her braids onto her back, and struts to the ship’s exit. 

*

Four shots, it turns out, and a mixed drink once she realizes the party is nothing but people wholly uninterested in her.  Abandoned by Vidal, go figure. The lights match her dress, Kaetus says before walking away from her. She mingles. Makes herself seen regardless.  _ You’ll be seeing more of me. _

Sloane isn’t happy that Juju is here, or at least that’s what she says. Maybe it’s because Juju sits on the arm of her throne like she’d been invited, dress riding dangerously high. Maybe Juju should stop taking experimental shots from weird bartenders. But should anyone blame her for taking every chance she gets to feel damn-near normal? She crosses her legs and Sloane Kelly takes a good look before shooing her off the arm. Juju takes it as a good sign that she isn’t knocked off instead. They’re making progress.

In another li-no. Juju would fuck Sloane Kelly in this life, the next, the last. But the Queen of Kadara Port is truthful in Juju’s first impression of her: she wants nothing from the Pathfinder, and it’s nothing personal. Just...there’s nothing to be gained, and Sloane is about gain.

Reyes comes back for her, pulls her out of a cluster of dancers with one arm around her waist. She learns quickly that she’s been used as a cover for something silly - he’s stealing alcohol from Sloane, which sounds dumb. But she doesn’t say that, because she wants to taste it. Juju’s trying to read the label when they hear someone coming. Reyes blocks her with his body on hers and talks about distractions. To the guard, it will look like they mean to be close when Juju slips her arms around his waist and tilts her face up for a kiss.

The guard skitters away before their lips meet but they kiss anyway; it is momentum, or curiosity, or both. Reyes grips the back of her neck but kisses her softly, almost hesitantly. His mouth is soft, faintly tasting of smoke and a sweet balm. Juju imagines that he could hold her down pretty easily and that gets her a little excited, but she blames the shots.

Reyes Vidal is a no-no. And not actually who she wants.

Fuck.

“I think we’re in the clear,” he says with a smile against her mouth. He nips her bottom lip before pulling away. “And I think Umi made you her tester tonight.”

“I’m fine,” she says. “But I probably shouldn’t kiss you again.”

“Because you’re drunk?”

“Because I don’t quite trust you enough for...” she stops, because what she’s going to say she’s also going to have to blame on the alcohol.

Reyes grins like she’d said it aloud. “That’s smart, Jude. As much as I’d love to hear the rest of that sentence. Come on.” He holds his hand out to her.

“Where are we going?”

“To find fresh air and innocent conversation?” he asks with a laugh. “You’re still my date. And either way, I still get to see you in that dress, which is a gift in itself. Nothing funny. Then I’ll return you to your ship.”

Good enough, good enough; they steal onto the rooftops and muse about the Milky Way. All in all, Juju doesn’t learn anything remotely useful, except for how the oldest liquor in Andromeda tastes.

***

Vetra did have business but it was a bust without a trail to follow afterwards and thus, unimportant. A waste, really. But, it isn’t the only thread she has on her special item. She has others.

She’ll find her lamp if it’s the last thing she does.

“Well?” Drack asks when she returns to the Tempest. He looks her over, searching for the lamp. She doesn’t know when he became so invested, but he very much is now and it’s the funniest thing to her.

“Bust. Shit happens.” She’d nearly gone to seek out Kravus and his open invitation for drinks and sex to make her feel better. But that’d look bad; Vetra doesn’t double-back and she damn sure doesn’t chase. She leaves that for work. 

Though, technically, it’s not chasing if the mark isn’t actually running away.

“Tough.” Drack pulls her from her thoughts. He walks the ship and spends time at the entrance when he knows people are still out. Everyone has a specialized key to enter the  _ Tempest _ when no one’s on deck, but you can’t be too careful; they have a nice ship, the nicest currently off of the Nexus. Vetra wouldn’t blame someone for wanting to take it, and she knows Drack wouldn’t either. “Least you can get some rest, then.”

Vetra smiles. Damn old grandpa. “Yeah, guess so. Everyone sleep?” She looks past him into the empty, dim ship. Feels bigger with everyone gone.

“Ryder’s still out, if that’s what you mean.”

Damn grandpa. “No, I meant what I said.”

“Mhmm.” Drack huffs. “Everyone else is asleep. Haven’t gotten any alerts from SAM, so Ryder’s okay.”

Vetra always forgets that Ryder has SAM in her brain. That’s why she’d seen her die and come back to life.

She’s not supposed to be thinking about that, though, lest the sharp pain in her chest comes back for remembering it.

“Hope something crops up soon,” Drack continues, leaning his head back against the wall. Old man has to be tired in spite of himself, probably. “I get that the kid gets off on the whole adventure shtick but I’m ready to bash serious heads.”

“There’s more than a little action in the badlands,” Vetra points out. 

“Small stuff after you take out waves of kett on their own ship,” Drack shoots back. “Besides, I have...what’s the human saying? A bone to pick. Axe to grind. With those fucking pissants.”

Quiet settles over them as Drack broods- no, as Drack mourns. He’d lost his people that day, and Vetra knows it’s a hard hitl. She knows the history of krogan and she knows how they’re treated by everyone, even humans. So, Ryder’s choice is still hurting him.

“I get why she did it,” he says quietly. “I get where her head was at. Still wanna toss her off a cliff.”

“No judgement here,” Vetra says truthfully. “And I don’t think she judges you either.”

Drack eyes her for what feels like a long, long time. “You know everyone knows, right?”

“Know...what...?” She blinks.

Drack blinks back, slowly, and she tenses.

“Shit, Drack. There’s nothing to _ know _ .”

His gaze is a challenge then, daring her to look away and when she doesn’t, he seems pleased. “Hmph. Maybe not yet. But I’m really old, Vetra. Swear I’ve seen everything.”

“We’re both seeing this cluster for the first time, aren’t we?” She knows exactly what he means. But she can’t get pissy after he just finished crying as much as she’ll probably ever see from Nakmor Drack.

The old krogan huffs. “Uh huh.”

They both turn when the ship entrance lights up, unlock protocols whirring with a successful key. The door slides open, and Juju strides in. Something about her center seems off but she doesn’t stumble like she had after Vortex.

She pauses when she sees them both. Looks down at her feet, presumably because of Drack. 

“Goodnight,” she mutters, and rushes past them. Drack just sighs deeply. 

“I’m gonna...” Vetra gestures after Juju, but she doesn’t actually know what she’s going to do. 

“Mhmm.” Drack waves her away, settling further into his seat. “Make sure you get some rest too, Vetra.”

She catches up to Juju before she gets to the lift and wonders why she doesn’t just take her shoes off and climb down the ladder. Much quicker. “Hey.”

“You don’t have to,” Juju says, shaking her head.

“What?”

“Say anything about it. He could have left the  _ Tempest _ ; he’s well within his rights to be pissed at me forever. It’s fine.”

Vetra steps onto the lift with her silently.

The lift runs at its lowest power this late, and they ride the short way down in silence. Once down, Vetra fully intends to simply make for her claimed quarters; she doesn’t have as good a setup as Liam’s ratty couch, but her sleeping pad is more than comfortable. And she prefers the armory, plain and simple. 

“I wouldn’t make a different choice if I had the chance,” Juju says, stopping her in her tracks. “As soon as I knew Raeka and her lot were alive, it was always my own mission to keep them that way. I might have hesitated before leaving Drack’s scouts, but...” she shrugs helplessly, struggling now to stay balanced in her spindly heels. She really does look good dressed up.

Vetra thinks Juju made a fine choice. It’s shitty, because Drack got hurt, but Vetra has made more shitty-good choices than she can count. And she doesn’t blame the people who got hurt for wanting to rip her to shreds.

“Leaders make hard choices all the time,” Vetra says, walking back over to where Juju stands at the mouth of the hallway. “And people die. All the time.”

Juju nods, then winces; she slips out of her heels quickly, flexing reddened feet on the ship floor. All in the space of a breath, she both collects and releases a bout of tension so palpable that Vetra can almost cut through it with her claw.

“Being a leader is something I’m still learning how to do,” Juju says, her voice breaking, and Vetra realizes belatedly- tension aside she’s too busy looking at all of the shape and bare skin this blue dress reveals as Juju bounces on the balls of her weird human feet- that her eyes are red. “Sorry.” She wipes at her eyes and smears her makeup. “Sorry.” Her voice regains its weight. 

Working with humans hasn’t yet gotten Vetra used to how many emotions they can cycle through at once. For fragile things, at least in comparison to turians, they carry a lot. 

“You don’t have to apologize.” On impulse, Vetra reaches out and strokes the top of her head, mindful of the braided rows snagging on her claws. As far as fringes go, hair is strange. Probably always will be. But she likes Juju’s braids.  Vetra runs the back of her hand over her head, once, twice. Juju watches her with a strange expression, something caught between surprise and another rush of tears. Vetra catches a few of Juju’s braids, lets the woven hair slide between her fingers. 

“I do.” Juju shakes her head. “Until I get it right, I do.” She takes a step back but Vetra follows her, compelled by something she doesn’t recognize, and grabs her hand. Juju doesn’t hesitate in squeezing back.

“You’re getting it right.” Vetra forgets sometimes that of everyone, Juju is the most untested. It’s hard to remember, or to believe, when she drags them around the cluster winning. The war might still be dodgy, but they have undoubtedly won battle after battle. “You’re...”

Juju is quick but Vetra knows that; she’s still not ready be pulled at, to be met by the pathfinder on her tiptoes, to have soft lips pressed against her half-open mouth. To have one warm hand firm on the back of her neck even though Vetra isn’t trying to go anywhere. No, she’s fine right here, her sub-vocals humming like ship engines as Juju keeps kissing her, slips her flat tongue into Vetra’s mouth. Presses her not-so-flat body, once again, against her; Vetra squeezes her waist this time, holds her flush. Can feel the shifting muscles in her stomach beneath her fingers, the soft give of her breasts against her own chest plates. She tastes sharp and acrid, like how human-safe alcohol smells. She is hot, hot, hot, in the way humans run hot, and then some.

Juju strokes at Vetra’s crest and Vetra shivers; she finds a chip in her crest from a forgotten fight and rubs the flat of her thumb over it. Circular motions.

It’s Vetra’s breaking point; she moans into Juju’s mouth and pulls away, trembling.

“Shit. Uh.” Juju looks frantic even though she stands still as stone. “That was...real selfish of me. Wow.”

Vetra remembers to breathe. “No, it’s just...”  _ I liked that too much. _

_ I liked that way too much. _

_ I want to pick a room and lock the door behind us and show you just how much I liked it. _

“I know,” Juju says quickly, though she can’t possibly. “This is not ideal. And I keep...fuck. I don’t want to make things awkward. The flirting was nice-  _ is  _ nice. Safe. Can we...I don’t want to mess that up.” She folds her arms and frowns at the floor. “We still have so much shit to do.”

Vetra’s brain isn’t working; she’s usually a step ahead, enjoys being a step ahead. Seeing pieces before they fall. But she’s short-circuiting. And she can’t stop  _ shaking _ .

“You’re beautiful.” It slips out of her mouth like a sigh, and Juju’s head snaps up.

“So are you,” she returns just as softly, with a smile on kiss-swollen lips. Vetra knows all about that. From practice in the past. But it had been a while since she kissed a human before tonight.

“We should both get some rest.” It’s a horrible follow-up to  _ you’re beautiful _ , but seems like the safest thing to say.

“Yeah.” Juju nods quickly, her cheeks burnishing as she dips to pick up her shoes, runs a quick hand over her hair. “Yeah. Goodnight. I...goodnight.” She disappears down the hallway. Scurries, really.

Vetra watches her go and immediately wants to kick herself. It scares her; the rush of touch and bursting emotion scares her because she’s just supposed to be flirting with the Pathfinder. Just playful. Juju isn’t supposed to be interested, but that she  _ is _ ...Vetra sighs. Savors the acrid-salty taste of Ryder, mixed with alcohol, on her tongue.

She’ll talk to Ryder; they’ll talk again. They’re adults, they can talk like adults and figure this out. Figure something out.


End file.
